The Crush (The Crush Series Book 1)

The Ribbon

I used to fall asleep to the sound of crickets chirping.

A synchronized chorus that rose and receded like a wave through my open window, accompanied by the rhythmic creaking of my overworked ceiling fan as I tried to stay cool enough to sleep through a hot summer night. A book in my hand while I pictured being someplace else, while I waited for another morning that would be exactly the same.

Then I woke to an explosive ribbon of bullets.

The rapid eruption of sound on the street outside ricocheted between buildings before it barreled into my apartment, the volume only magnified by the blank walls and empty rooms. A police radio in my hand while I thought about finding something to help buffer the sound, while I waited for the blare of sirens that rarely came.

I used to recognize everyone.

The same faces I’d seen since childhood looked up to greet me whenever I made my way through town, long hellos and extensive goodbyes on every street corner and in every store as I repeated the same story they all already knew. I grinned at the thought of planting a piece of gossip just to see how far it went, to see if my mamá or Eva would get wind of it first.

Then everyone was a stranger.

My neighbors kept their heads down in doorways and alleyways as I made my way through the city, quick nods and short dismissals between new orders that always amounted to the same. I frowned as I thought about planting a piece of information just to see who I could trust, to see how alone I really was.

I used to want to make a difference.

To leave my small mark on a big wide world, to do something that mattered, to see things that others hadn’t. My plans were always five steps ahead of where I was standing. I was willing to leap without caring where I landed. All I needed was the chance. One hand on the steering wheel and one out the window as I drove down memory-imprinted backroads and figured out which one would get me out of there fastest.

Then I only wanted it to stop.

To leave this world with one less gaping wound, to get one step closer instead of two steps back. I’d already seen too much. I still leapt without caring where I landed as long as it was only me that broke at the bottom. I had one hand on a glass of whiskey and one hand on a set of files as I tried to figure out a way that not everyone had to lose even if we couldn’t win.

I used to have faith in things.

Now I just want to believe.